


Near Miss (Is a Hit)

by Twig



Category: Impact Wrestling | Total Nonstop Action Wrestling, Professional Wrestling
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-10
Updated: 2020-07-10
Packaged: 2021-03-05 05:06:47
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,977
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25178893
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Twig/pseuds/Twig
Summary: "But when it feels right, it'll feel right and you just go with it. You grab it with both your hands and don't let go."orFour Times Styles and Daniels Could've Gotten Together But Didn't, and the One Time They Did[originally posted in 2009]
Relationships: Christopher Daniels/A.J. Styles
Kudos: 4





	Near Miss (Is a Hit)

**Author's Note:**

> Continuity: Independents, ROH, TNA, spanning 2001 to 2006. 
> 
> 2020 Note: So, if you'll pardon my ego, this was my magnum opus: my love letter to the pairing and to wrestling, and also my "retirement fic" back in '09. Of course, in true wrestling fashion, I didn't stay retired and ended up writing a handful of Punk/Cena thereafter though I guess I "retired" for good after "The View Never Changes" in 2014. Incidentally, this would be the "old TNA fic" that "View" references at the end.

**October 13, 2001 - NWA 53rd Anniversary Show - St. Petersburg, FL**

There's a crappy little sports bar three-quarters of a mile from the Wrestleplex. The place is cramped, the food is mediocre, but it's the only place open past ten and it's ridiculously close to the Motel 6 most of the guys are staying at. Sometimes convenience trumps taste. 

Daniels lounges at the bar, Hernandez and Northcutt on either side, though that's more coincidence than intention. Hernandez is chatting with the bartender and Northcutt is watching some game on the tube. Daniels hangs with his beer, a tall glass of Miller Lite from the tap, an eager gift from a fan, though it sits untouched, sweating beads down to the counter top. Free alcohol is free alcohol, but Miller Lite doesn't count. 

"Bored?" 

Startled by the voice in his ear, Daniels jerks around, just narrowly misses clipping Corino in the chin with his shoulder. Corino laughs, darts back a step, beer lapping dangerously up the side of the glass in his hand. Daniels snorts and swivels about in his seat, leans back against the hard edge of the bar top. 

"How can you tell?"

Corino barks another laugh and takes a sip of his beer. His face is a mess of splotchy red from getting kicked a few hard times during his match, which is actually somewhat of an improvement on his complexion. 

"C'mon, look at this place! Good times just waiting to happen!" 

Corino nods toward the end of the bar, where Jimmy Rave appears to be in the middle of negotiations with the barmaid, a woman who can only be described as a Valkyrie. Not the sexy, busty sort either. More like Helga the Hefty, who can probably squash Jimmy like a bug. 

"What'd you do? Stiff him with your tab?" 

Corino's smirk is answer enough, and Daniels shakes his head, though not as an admonishment because there's no use chiding Steve Corino. 

"Hey," Corino protests, straightening up and squaring his shoulders. "It's my personal duty to fuck with the next generation. Gives them backbone." 

"You're not exactly a geezer, Steve." 

"Hey now, I've been around the block." Corino waggles his brows, turning the comment lascivious, though it's more comical than anything else. 

"You _tried_ being around the block, and every door slammed in your face." 

"Ouch, Chris. You really hurt my feelings! I work hard to look this good, you know." Corino gestures to himself, a Zero-One shirt that has seen better days stretched across a chest and stomach that could stand to lose a few inches. 

"Oh yes. Steve Corino: GQ Model."

Corino strikes a pose. Daniels wonders if he should call Simon Diamond to inform him of the gimmick infringement. 

"I should probably head back. Gotta wake up at four-thirty." Daniels grimaces. He doesn't hate mornings, but 4:30 A.M. exists in the god-forsaken void between good times stretched late and the brisk bright-and-early. 

"So?"

Instead of answering, Daniels gets to his feet, but Corino blocks his way. 

"You haven't even touched your beer." 

"I don't want it." 

"Why'd you buy it?" 

"I didn't. That kid with the bandana got it for me." 

Corino makes a face. "You're wasting free beer?" 

"You can have it if you want." 

Corino lays his hand on Daniels' shoulder. "One beer. One beer and you can go." 

Daniels is no fool. There is no such thing as "one beer" in Corino's vocabulary. Oh, he may use the term, but he doesn't know the meaning of it. 

"Just one," Corino promises, eyes oozing sincerity. Daniels rolls his own and reaches for his wallet. 

"Fine."

He hasn't gotten his wallet halfway out before Corino stops him. 

"What?" 

Corino flicks a none-too-subtle glance toward the back corner of the bar, but Daniels doesn't get the drift.

"What?!" 

Sighing, Corino lets go of Daniels' arm and jabs a finger toward the back of the bar again. Daniels looks over and sees the kid from Wildside in one of the booths. "Get the kid to pay for it!" 

Daniels makes a disgusted little noise. "I'm not as cheap as you, Corino." 

"That's not the point." Corino grins. "You put the kid over. Least he can do is buy you a drink, right?"

"Don't remind me." 

Not that Daniels has a problem putting somebody over, but he's lost count of the number of guys he's put over for Niemi. This kid -- AJ Styles -- isn't even a local. Daniels tries to look on the bright side and take it as a compliment. The Fallen Angel, Christopher Daniels, is so awesome that having a win over him makes you look like a million bucks. Never mind that he can't remember the last time Niemi booked him a win. 

"Go!"

Corino shoves him, which Daniels doesn't appreciate, but he figures that Corino is only going to nag him if he doesn't, so he heads on over. 

AJ. The kid from Georgia, Wildside's shining star. For a guy who has high school jock written all over him, the kid is surprisingly sitting by his lonesome. He doesn't seem to be hanging back though, neither awkward nor uncomfortable. Wrestlers are little more than frat boys after all, and like frat boys, one hones a sense for the weak, the ones too shy, too nervous, too socially inept. AJ is anything but. 

While Daniels has no intention of conning anything out of AJ, he figures conversation can't hurt. 

"Mind if I sit?" 

AJ tilts his head up, smiles, and it's one hell of a smile, like Daniels is an old friend gone too long and now returned. It's almost off-putting, if it weren't so welcoming. Daniels slides onto the bench, wonders if he should keep this short, and then AJ opens his mouth. 

Daniels has been accused of being verbose in the past, but he's got nothing on the kid. AJ talks like an effervescent tablet in a glass of water, not so much with the articulate, but most definitely animated. It'd be a cliche to say AJ's accent is as thick as molasses, but what other simile can you use with a kid as Southern as this? Daniels was born in North Carolina, but he's lived in L.A. long enough to cultivate a healthy disdain for anything less than urban, except it's hard to be anything but entertained right now. 

AJ must have caught the amused smirk on his face, because he cuts himself short with a wide, sheepish grin. 

"I don't normally go on and on like this, I swear. It's just I'm nervous."

"Nervous?"

"Yeah, 'cause you're Chris Daniels and all, and you're pretty cool. And I know I've just become really uncool for sayin' it out loud like that." 

Daniels chuckles. "I don't mind. You can compliment me all you want." And seeing how AJ has talked endlessly without a sip of anything, Daniels forgets his whole reason for coming over and offers, "Buy you a drink?" 

"Nah, thanks, I don't drink." 

"Cardinal sin right there, turning down a free drink." 

AJ laughs. "I don't drink." His smile widens into a grin. "But I never turn down free food." 

He's almost brazen, and Daniels has to laugh. Kid's got a good gimmick going. Slightly abashed candor without all the edges that come with being too honest, playing it just shy of cute. Daniels raps his knuckles on the table top in approval. 

"What do you have in mind?" 

"I'm pretty sure I saw a Denny's three blocks from here, but nobody wanted to go." 

The allure of a relaxing beer after the show is often overpowering, so Daniels isn't particularly surprised to hear that. 

"Well, let's go." 

But the trip to Denny's ends up being a bust. What AJ thought was a Denny's turns out to be a cleverly disguised local diner with a much earlier closing time. Foiled, they return to the motel. 

"So where're you headin' off to next?" AJ asks as they stroll down the path, heading toward Daniels' room. 

"Home, then Chicago and Detroit. You?" 

AJ shrugs. "Home, too. Then Atlanta. And Atlanta. And then Atlanta again." AJ flashes a smile, but there's an undercurrent to his tone that Daniels can't quite decipher. 

"Wildside seems like a pretty good steady gig." 

"It's good. But it's nothing like WCW." 

The sore spot on both their resumes, a literal one in Daniels' case. His neck still twinges every now and then. 

"Easy come, easy go." Which is easier said than done, but that goes without saying. AJ doesn't seem to get it though. 

"Wasn't easy," he says, more like a mutter, really. 

"You bust your ass, yeah, but that's this life for you. You either go with the flow..." Daniels shrugs. AJ doesn't look chastened, or even like he listened, head half-turned away with his eyes somewhere in the distance. Eight years of banging away at this gig has made Daniels feel like an old man. AJ suddenly seems like a sullen child, and Daniels has no desire to school him on the ways of the world. 

When they reach his door, Daniels is sure AJ will move right on with little more than a polite smile. It's been fun, but they're encroaching good-times-gone- _too_ -late territory. But sure as Daniels is, when the time comes, AJ seems reluctant to leave. 

Daniels stands just inside his room as AJ lingers in the doorway, one hand on the frame so Daniels can't shut the door even if he wants to. 

"Does it get easier?"

It's a honest question, and earnest eyes search him for an answer. Daniels can see that AJ is listening this time. Yearns for a scrap of wisdom, but Daniels doesn't know what to give him. Eight years, and he's still figuring it out. Not just wrestling, but all of it. 

"Yes. No. Both." Daniels gives a half-smile, apologetic for the indefinite answer. 

"I got into this for the money, you know," AJ says, and this time, there comes the edge in his honesty that was missing before. Somehow, it makes Daniels feel better to see it there. "Which is real stupid of me, I know. My friends are all finishin' college or technical school and gettin' real jobs. I'm mowing lawns on the weekend for gas money so I can drive out to Atlanta every week. WCW was gonna be my big break, ya know? Then it all fell through, and it's like all that was for nothing. Maybe I shouldn't have dropped outta college. But it's like I'm hooked now, you know? S'like I gotta do this. I can't be anything else." 

There's no stopping AJ now, not that Daniels wants to. This is a rant months in the making, Daniels can tell. He's been through this, the need to justify out loud. To confess it to another person makes it all real, unretractable. 

"I love it. I love this. But it's like... it's like it's not enough sometimes. I got no idea if this is the right thing to do, or maybe I oughta grow up. Get my head outta the clouds and be a man. And I feel... stupid. I just feel stupid. For wanting this as bad as I do." AJ drags a hand through his hair, then over his face, a scrub that ends with him laughing, the sound self-deprecating. "Sorry. You don't gotta say nothin'. I just had to get it out." 

"I figured." 

AJ clears his throat, settling into the awkward uncomfortable stage after an outburst confession. "So, uh, I guess I'm gonna go now." 

"AJ."

"Yeah?" 

Daniels waits. He waits until AJ's looking at him, until they're eye-to-eye and he's got AJ's complete attention. Like that first smile AJ gave him, it's a hell of a thing to have those blue eyes focused on him. 

"You have to love it more than just what goes on in the ring. And sometimes you have to realize that like a relationship, love isn't enough. Wanting it isn't enough. It's hard. It's messy. It'll come damn close to killing your soul. No amount of love is going to change that. But when it feels right, it'll feel right and you just go with it. You grab it with both your hands and don't let go."

AJ breathes a quick little breath and nods wordlessly. Standing there in the threshold, not quite in, not quite out, he seems ready to say something or do something, but he hesitates. Daniels can see the change of decision in AJ's eyes followed by a faint, self-directed shake of the head. 

"Thanks," he says instead as he lets his hand fall from the door frame. "Thank you." 

"You're welcome." 

AJ flashes a smile and bids Daniels goodnight. He doesn't look back once, and Daniels stops watching his retreating back after AJ passes the third door down. 

Daniels doesn't bother trying to sleep. He lies awake on his bed until he has to leave, thinking of that look on AJ's face right before he changed his mind. 

*

**June 14, 2003 - Ring of Honor - Cambridge, MA**

"Are you going to show me or not?" 

Daniels folds his arms across his chest, standing tall, shoulders squared, looking in all the world like a stern teacher with a wayward student. It doesn't help that AJ is grinning, all the appearance of a mischievous schoolboy. 

"You gotta ask more nicely than that."

Daniels snorts, fondly exasperated as he shakes his head lightly at AJ, dropping down to a seat on his bed in the room they share. 

"Would you please, almighty champion of the world, show humble pathetic little me your big and shiny belt?" 

AJ laughs, one of his rare bursts of full-throated amusement, head thrown back in utter glee. Daniels hasn't seen AJ this giddy since AJ got his hands on some hot new Japanese video game a few months back. 

"So, do I get to see it or not?" 

AJ grins, seemingly satisfied by Daniels' humility, and Daniels has to snort again even as AJ rolls over on his bed to reach for his bag. Truthfully, Daniels wishes he had the chance to congratulate AJ on his win far earlier than this, three days late in a different town, but they've all learned to take what they can get with the life they lived. 

When AJ turns back around, the belt is in his hands. Even in the dull yellow light of the bedside lamp, the gold glimmers and beckons. Daniels feels the strangest urge to touch, the sort of desire that comes with the gut belief that touching something makes it real. Even though he knows he doesn't need to, Daniels glances up at AJ anyway, a silent request for permission. AJ nods, still that grin plastered to his face, flickering his gaze down to let Daniels know that he can touch all he wants. 

The metal is cold to Daniels' fingertips, but warms quickly. If Daniels believes the internet smarks, this is the only untarnished belt left in North America. Of course, Daniels knows better than to put much stock in that belief. If there's anything he's learned about the business, it's the fact that everything is tainted. Still, this is history that he's touching, in all its ugly and beautiful glory. 

"I still can't believe it, ya know?" AJ's voice is barely above a whisper, the glee replaced by starry-eyed awe. "I never thought I'd get something like this. Never thought I'd be here, holdin' this. I know I'm still just a kid to Jeff and Jerry and Vince and everybody, but they picked me. Can ya believe that? Me!" 

"I can't think of a better candidate." Daniels speaks the words simply. Sometimes there's no need for embellishment. 

AJ laughs, ducks his head, and he's still so terrible at taking compliments. Daniels supposes that it's good in a way, helps to keep AJ's head on the level. Too many egos have swollen beyond recognition, and AJ can be a prime candidate, being the darling of the indy spotlight. 

"It's just so wild." AJ's looking down at the belt in his hands. There's boylike wonder in his eyes, like a kid carrying a cherished baseball card. "Completely unreal." 

Blue eyes lift, and the smile on AJ's face is soft to match the look in his eyes. 

"Sometimes I think I wouldn't be here if it weren't for you." 

For a moment, Daniels isn't sure what to say to that. AJ is sincere, he knows that much; that isn't the point of contention. How much of that statement is true is what has tripped him up. It would be wildly egotistical to agree, not that Daniels does, because AJ is the one who has made the way for himself with his skills and determination. But it's a little disingenuous, too, at least to himself, to deny his own influence on AJ's career. 

"Nonsense, you got _yourself_ here." 

Which is the truth. Though Daniels knows that if he asks for it, AJ will give him all the credit in the world. He knows that AJ would give the shirt off his back to pay any debt he feels he owes. But AJ doesn't owe him a thing. Daniels doesn't want gratitude, even if it's nice to hear, especially when it's unasked for. He tries to ask himself what he really wants, from AJ, and he isn't sure of the answer. 

AJ smiles, and it's an uncomplicated expression. He likes what he's heard, and it's right there on his face. Daniels feels selfish. AJ _makes_ him feel selfish, and it isn't entirely a bad thing. It just motivates him to be more generous. When AJ smiles like that, it's hard not to be. 

"I'm proud of you," Daniels says, almost an absent comment to himself. That's a statement without any layers, and it makes AJ's smile brighten. 

"That means a lot to me."

AJ puts aside the belt, ready to reach out, but Daniels beats him to it, slipping an arm around AJ's waist and tucking him close. And if he hangs on a little too long, a little too tight... well, he knows AJ wouldn't mind. 

*

**December 12, 2004 - Night of Appreciation for Sabu - Bellevue, MI**

"You're not listenin', are ya?"

Daniels turns his head toward AJ, chagrined to realize that he has indeed been tuning AJ out for god knows how long now. 

"Sorry, I just--" Daniels makes a vague gesture in the air. He doesn't know what he means, but AJ nods like he understands. 

"You want me to turn the light out?" 

"No, it's okay. I was just thinking." 

AJ nods and gets to his feet from the edge of the bed where he's been sitting. Daniels thinks AJ is heading for the bathroom, but instead, AJ crosses over to sit on the edge of Daniels' bed. Daniels thinks about sitting up, but he's too comfortably reclined to bother. 

"You all right?" 

The yellow glow of the bedside lamp washes out AJ's complexion, the clear blue of his eyes. Daniels finds it a strangely disconcerting sight. 

"Yeah," he answers, after too long a pause. Maybe a deliberate one, knowing AJ as he does. 

"You wanna talk about it?" 

Daniels manages a shrug. "Just thinking about Sabu. The show." 

"I didn't see you after." 

"Yeah, me and a bunch of other guys, we...." Daniels considers his words. "We wanted to give Sabu something extra." AJ blinks, more confused than surprised, and he doesn't have to say a thing for Daniels to read loud and clear what AJ is thinking, the question as to why he was not included. "We all knew him the longest." 

"So what's buggin' ya?" 

There are some things AJ won't understand for years to come, and Daniels doesn't blame him for it. AJ has been damn lucky. No broken bones, no ripped tendons, no dislocated joints. Just deep bruises and bad sprains, the normal grind, your usual wear and tear. AJ's body still hasn't learned to hold a grudge. 

Daniels' body, though, has cultivated a fine seething hatred. This must be what gymnasts and models feel like, an expiration date looming overhead like the sword of Damocles. But Daniels knows that's just pessimism speaking, even if looking at Sabu is like looking at a warning poster. Don't Let This Happen To You. Which isn't fair. Wrong, too, since Sabu is a friend, but Daniels can't help but be secretly glad and then secretly ashamed of being glad. There's an investment portfolio out there with his name on it, and god help him, he's not going to end up a cliche. 

Daniels wants to tell AJ to invest. Diversify. Call a broker, a planner, don't waste it all on a pretty car that will only depreciate. Talking about money seems crass though, like breaking some invisible boundary of good taste and courtesy. You don't ask a man what he makes. You don't offend his pride by telling him what to do with it. AJ listens to him, appreciates his good advice, but Daniels can only take that so far before he turns unwelcome. 

And he never wants to be unwelcome by AJ. 

Daniels realizes with a start that he's thumbing the seam at the knee of AJ's jeans. AJ either doesn't notice or doesn't mind, and Daniels isn't sure which option he prefers. Glancing up, he sees AJ, expectant. This is the pattern of their behaviour, he the older and the wiser, advising young grasshopper. But it's so much more than that.

"You don't gotta talk if you don't wanna," AJ says with a smile. It's okay, his smile is saying underneath the words. It's okay, but I wish you would. 

When AJ starts to get up, Daniels catches AJ's wrist, not letting go even as he sits up. 

"AJ." 

The look on AJ's face is familiar; Daniels has seen it before, though he can't recall when or where. Patient, but anticipatory. Waiting, just waiting. Daniels asked himself once just what it is he really wants from AJ, and he thinks he knows the answer, except he's not sure if it's the right one. Answers can come cheap and easy. It's certainty that everyone lacks. 

What's between them is an investment like any other. You throw your lot in and watch as it grows. There's calculated risk you take for that big payoff, but there are some things you just can't put on the line. The difference between investing and gambling is what you're willing to lose. 

Same as what they do in the ring, really. AJ lives like he wrestles, all fire and gut instinct, a gambler's soul and it isn't a compliment. Daniels has told him a million times: wrestle smarter, not harder. Sometimes AJ listens. Sometimes he doesn't. 

AJ looks at him. AJ waits. And waiting isn't good enough. Cheap answers aren't good enough. 

Daniels thinks of Sabu, broken and broke, and he lets go of AJ's wrist. 

Christopher Daniels is not a gambling man. 

*

**March 9, 2005 - APW 10th Anniversary Show - Hayward, CA**

I-5. Due north. Somewhere in the vast stretch of emptiness between Bakersfield and Fresno. Frankie's behind the wheel and he's got Metallica on full blast along with the air conditioning. The inside of the car is like a meat locker, but Daniels can't complain. Frankie took the bullet, after all, in driving through L.A. traffic this morning. For that, Frankie can crank the A/C up as much as he wants. Daniels wisely chose to sit in the back with AJ, though, sharing the same disinclination for turning into an ice cube by the time they reach Hayward. 

Thoughts of AJ bring Daniels' gaze down to his lap. Good thing Frankie has long settled into the peaceful zone-out of a long drive, because Daniels would never hear the end of it if Frankie saw the state AJ is in, which, to put it kindly, is an undignified sprawl across most of the back seat, ending with AJ's head in Daniels' lap. 

Sure, Daniels can wake him, but with a resigned exhale, he lets AJ be. Kid must be exhausted anyway, can't blame him. Saturday night, the three of them crashed Joe's place. Daniels can't remember whose bright idea it was. Can't be his, since he is filled with the wisdom of his years. Never AJ, because-- well, it probably was AJ. 

It'd be great, AJ said. He, Frankie, and Daniels are all booked for APW in Hayward on Sunday. Why not hang out at Joe's before he has to fly out to Philly for Ring of Honor? Have a little get-together. 

Brilliance. 

On second thought, AJ deserves his crash-out. There's no such thing as a "little get-together" where Joe is concerned. The man takes his size to heart, and nothing he does is short of epic, especially where partying is concerned. And AJ? Well, for a guy who doesn't drink, he sure matched their antics. 

That, Daniels reminds himself, makes AJ the most dangerous one of them all. 

Squinting, Daniels looks out the window, burnt sienna as far as the eye can see. It's hideously bright, and he forgot his shades in the trunk, but there's nowhere else to look but out. Elephants in the room have nothing on AJ in the car, head in his lap. The feeling in Daniels' gut is nothing sharp, but worn smooth, like rocks in the ocean. 

Some are ugly, misshapen. The envy of AJ's easy sprawl, twelve years and a thousand bumps out of Daniels' reach. Thirty-three isn't old, but he has the wear and mileage of a New York City cab. Envy is probably Daniels' most common sin. Never was cute like AJ. Or so spry, blue-eyed and earnest-faced. When Daniels wants to be ridiculous, he envies AJ's hairline, too. 

But warmth always wins out in the end, and Daniels just ends up being happy for the kid. Hopeful, too, that AJ survives all of this in the end. Daniels has seen the starry-eyed walk out into the sun, like that apocalyptic wasteland passing by unchanged outside the window, never to be seen again. 

There's a rest stop up ahead, and Frankie is leaning into the exit lane. Good thing, because Daniels really needs those sunglasses. And his ipod. Can't read worth shit in the car, but he can tune out Frankie's Metallica with some Ludlum or Clancy. 

Finally daring to look down, Daniels finds AJ dozing still, face turned away with his cheek pressed to Daniels' thigh. And his hand in AJ's hair, slowly slowly stroking. 

Catching himself, Daniels stops. Extricates himself. Not with shame, not even with resignation. Some things just are. Some things just aren't. 

Gently, Daniels jostles AJ awake as Frankie slows down and pulls into the rest stop. AJ grunts, sucking a wet-sounding breath that isn't particularly attractive as he wipes at his mouth. Daniels smiles anyway. He would've kicked AJ off him ages ago if AJ dared to drool on him. 

"Hm? We there?" AJ sits up, yawning, cracking his neck and peering out the window as Frankie parks. 

"You wish," Frankie says. He cuts the engine and gets out of the car. Seems like he's been needing a pee break for awhile from the way he jets toward the restroom. 

Daniels chuckles as he, too, leaves the car. The day isn't that hot yet, but it feels warmer for coming out of the freeze. Daniels stretches, cranes his neck back, doesn't look to feel AJ now standing beside him. 

"Sorry 'bout taking up all the room." 

Daniels glances over and sees mussed up hair and a sheepish smile. It's the smile of the barely awake, sleepy and fond-eyed. For all of Daniels' patience, all his feelings worn down smooth, there are moments like these when it's sharp. Not aching, but bright like the sun above their heads, and Daniels thinks he just might brave the desert for this mirage. 

"It's okay," he says with a smile and leaves it at that. 

*

**June 18, 2006 - TNA Slammiversary - Orlando, FL**

People never fucking understand. How one can feel pride at winning a pre-determined contest. It isn't about winning, Daniels has always known. Not about winning at all. 

But it _is_ about proving something. 

"You for real gonna sleep with that thing?"

Daniels opens his eyes and looks over at AJ, who's walking over to sit on the edge of his bed. Daniels has been lying on his own, with his newly won tag team title belt draped across his chest. Grinning, he wraps his arms around the belt in a possessive-looking snuggle.

"Maybe." 

AJ laughs. "No wonder Elix stopped rooming with you, ya crazy weirdo. I don't even wanna know what else you do with it." 

"The one I used to carry around is the one you got actually. And I _loved_ that belt." Daniels waggles his brows for extra effect, enormously amused when AJ cringes. 

"That's disgustin'." 

"It's your own dirty mind at work, Styles, don't blame me." 

AJ makes another face, pushing off his own bed and coming over onto Daniels'. He grabs the end of the belt and tugs. 

"Gimme this one 'fore you defile it. You can have the other one." 

Laughing, Daniels holds on tight. "Nope." 

AJ yanks. Daniels refuses to let go. It only takes two seconds before the tug of war turns into a tussle, dirty schoolyard tactics reigning over any strategy, with twisted fingers and flying elbows, no mercy for known weaknesses. Daniels finally catches AJ with a wristlock, pinning AJ face down into the mattress. Triumph surges sweet when AJ taps. 

"When will you ever learn?" Daniels chuckles as he lets go, ruffling AJ's hair before climbing off. His tag belt has long since slipped off the bed and onto the carpet, but damn if he isn't too lazy to grab it now. He sprawls as AJ untwists himself next to him, and he laughs a little more to himself under his breath at the dissatisfied expression on AJ's face. 

"I was only lettin' you win, old man," AJ mutters as he flexes his wrist and wiggles his fingers, grimacing as something pops audibly. He looks around, and Daniels oofs as AJ climbs over him to reach down to the floor. Coming back up, AJ's got the belt, which he drapes back over Daniels' waist. 

"Ow, AJ," Daniels says pointedly. 

"Got you your belt."

"I can see that." 

Unable to help himself, Daniels pats the solid weight across his stomach. He adds in a rub for good measure, but only because AJ is watching. 

"You really love that thing, doncha?" 

Daniels glances over at AJ, who is startlingly close, having remained on his side on Daniels' bed. 

"Yeah." 

"No, I mean..." AJ smiles, and it's a soft smile. "It means a lot to ya." 

"Of course." 

"It's like your sixteenth time winnin' it." 

"Doesn't matter." Daniels glances down at the gold, then looks back at AJ. "Besides, it's the first time I won it with you." As expected, that wins Daniels another smile. He doesn't calculate these things, but it's nice when he gets it right, especially when AJ makes it so easy. 

"Yeah, I like that, too." 

"It's proof, you know." The words slip out of Daniels' mouth, unexpectedly voiced. 

"Yeah?" 

"That they trust you." 

The smile on AJ's lips this time is one of understanding. 

"It's weird." The words keep tumbling out, and Daniels doesn't even know if he wants to stop. He keeps his eyes on the belt, on his hand on the belt. Not on AJ. AJ, who is lying next to him. AJ, who is comfortably and uncomfortably close, both at the same time. 

"What is?" 

"Going around in circles." 

AJ is looking at him, not understanding. Daniels doesn't feel particularly brave, but he turns his head finally to meet AJ's gaze. 

"You get this belt, and suddenly you feel... validated. But then you feel stupid, because what does it mean anyway?" 

"Chris..."

"I'm happy, don't get me wrong, AJ. I'm glad we got this. I'm glad we got this together." 

"So what's wrong?"

"Just that there's going to come a time when there won't be a single reason good enough to keep me doing this." 

"You love it. That's reason enough." 

"Is it?" 

AJ falls quiet, and Daniels hates himself for dragging him down. He's about to apologize when AJ lays a hand on his upper arm and speaks. 

"I remember what you told me, way back, when we first met. How sometimes love ain't enough. But if there's one thing I learned? It's that love is all ya got. It's the only thing you can be sure about. Not what's gonna happen tomorrow, not the decisions you make, not the decisions other people make. Just what you got in your heart, right here, right now. I know I'm not the smartest guy on the block. I know I do stupid things. And there're so many things I don't got the answer to. But I know what's in my heart, and I know that's gotta be enough." 

Daniels doesn't know when the shift happened, when they stopped talking about one thing and started talking about another. Or maybe it's always been this way, no distinction between the literal and the metaphorical, a conversation that didn't end with AJ walking away from his hotel room in St. Pete five years ago. But AJ is done talking. He lays his hand on Daniels' cheek, stares at him with the kind of intensity Daniels doesn't see anywhere but in the ring. When AJ leans in, Daniels meets him halfway, but he's no match for AJ's push forward, mouth first then body, a headlong collision that Daniels thinks is appropriate somehow, that AJ should kiss like he moves in the ring, a burst of unbound energy. 

All this time, Daniels thought: just wanting AJ isn't good enough reason to have him. He thinks now: god, what a load of complete horseshit. Because this is what he wants, breath and heat and touch. Denial is supposed to make him a stronger man, but it's only made him a coward, and now, finally, he's been set free. 

Daniels turns his body toward AJ's, lying on his side now, arm coming around AJ's waist to yank him closer. The belt rests between them, cold and hard, the emblem of their trials, the symbol of what brought them together, but Daniels grabs it by the strap and flings it far away. There will be nothing between them, nothing to stop the press of AJ's body against his, and AJ makes a faint noise of approval. 

Their lips part briefly so they can breathe. This time, Daniels leans in first, a light touch of lips followed by a firm press. Slow, warm, a thorough caress of AJ's mouth to leave the lips no uncertainty that they have been well and truly kissed. There's ache in AJ's touch, subdued but not tragic, though Daniels is sorry nonetheless. They've both waited too long, stood on the precipice and the glare of potential blinded their eyes. 

But Daniels won't be wistful, won't mourn missed chances. There is history upon AJ's lips, and Daniels can taste it when he puts his mouth upon them. AJ is a protégé, a colleague, a travel companion. Neither a surrogate son nor a substitute brother; something better than a friend, and, when this night is through, sweeter than even the label "lover" can give. 

AJ is smiling. Daniels can feel it against his mouth. He can't think of anything more wonderful than that. 

"You remember what I told you?" he whispers upon that smile. "The other part. When it--"

"-- feels right, it'll feel right--" 

Daniels grabs onto AJ with both hands and doesn't ever let go. 


End file.
